


Too Precious A Thing

by spilled_inkwell



Series: Innocence Lost [2]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Blood, Blood Drinking, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Vampires, vampire baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:02:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_inkwell/pseuds/spilled_inkwell
Summary: Of gifts given, unasked for and oftentimes unwanted.
Relationships: Dracula & Jonathan Harker
Series: Innocence Lost [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041597
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

That first week was Hell. Jonathan was so tense he was afraid he’d crack a tooth. The Count had insisted that they continue to share their meals together, as he had called it, and Jonathan took great pains to avoid the man at all other times. He was extra careful about not leaving the child alone with the Count in those first few unsteady days as the new order of things settled into place.

The bassinet was an unexpected addition. It was an unremarkable day, barely a week after that first dinner of theirs, when Jonathan returned to his rooms to find the thing placed innocuously at his bedside. It was quite old but the linens inside it were soft and clean. 

He didn’t place the child in it that night, instead curling protectively around the babe and watching as delicate eyelashes fluttered in sleep.

Sleep had remained elusive for Jonathan and when it came it was an easily disturbed rest, his senses ever alert to the slightest creak of the settling castle, the faintest whisper of distant echoing steps, or the breathy sighs of the wind rushing past his curtained window.

When he and the babe had made their appearance at dinner the next day Jonathan could tell that the Count was waiting for him to mention the gift, dark eyes searching the Englishman’s pale face. He didn’t give him the satisfaction and suffered through the meal in silence.

Jonathan’s resolve lasted two more days before he finally settled the child into the crib. He watched as the boy craned his neck, taking in his new surroundings. Jonathan stroked the babe’s head. The child’s hair was now a honeyed brown, the ends of them curling sweetly around Jonathan’s fingers. A gurgled sound came from the boy’s lips, still too pale, and Jonathan allowed himself a smile.

It would have been difficult for him not to notice his own recovery, if that was even the word for what was happening to them both. His skin felt smoother where he ran his hands over himself while bathing, his scalp had itched for a while before he had surmised the sensation to be his hair growing. Yet he still felt weak. The very weight of himself at times felt too much.

_Why must I always be so damned hungry?_

As Jonathan prepared himself for bed a thought came to him and he very carefully hung the crucifix on the bassinet. The metal caught the candlelight as it swayed above the infant. Wide eyes tracked the movement and eager hands reached for the cross, unable to catch it. For some reason Jonathan felt lighter. Sitting himself on his bed he watched as the child tired himself out and succumbed to sleep.

Jonathan had not planned to follow the babe into sleep but knew that he must have done when he saw Mina.

She was pale and as lovely as he remembered her. She stood in the snow outside the castle, the flurries dancing through her hair, beckoning him towards her with a smile. He started to walk towards her but as he did so he saw her smile falter and that she had started to cry. Or had she always been crying? And then her face wasn’t one of sadness but of fear, and her sobs turned into screams as the tears froze on her white cheeks. Yet he was still moving closer. She did not move, or it may have been that she couldn’t, and still she reached for him. 

Jonathan woke with a start when her ice cold hand had touched his cheek. It was all he could do to stop himself from crying but a few tears still escaped.

_I will not think of her here. Not in this place._

And yet he must, for why is he here if not for her? If not to kill the beast then to damn himself right alongside him for that which he loved. Looking over he was surprised to see the child awake, content and undisturbed by Jonathan’s abrupt awakening. 

His eyes were blue.

Jonathan stared. As the babe’s pallor had slowly returned to him over the past week the unnatural dark of his eyes had lingered unchanged. Jonathan had been half convinced that the child would always have such features as they had shown no signs of steady improvement such as his hair and fingernails had done.

Now all at once here he was. For all appearances, a perfectly healthy child. Looking closer he could see the blue was shot through with brown, seeming to change the hue from whatever angle you look at them.

“Hello,” Jonathan whispered into the dark. The babe turned to him and after a moment his face split into a gummy smile. Jonathan let the child play with his fingers as he lost himself in those perfect eyes.

“You’ve got your mother’s eyes,” he told the child and as he said it he knew it was true. 

He remembered Mina. Wild thoughts of wrapping the babe up in his arms and running to her came to his imagination. They could live in the country, miles away from any living thing. Have a chance at a normal life.

Then the hunger returned and he despaired.

It was early, or perhaps it was late, yet knowing that sleep wouldn’t return Jonathan swaddled the child and, taking both babe and crucifix, went to find the sun. Since the day that he had died Jonathan would often take the babe outside, but never to that place. In his frenzied explorations almost a lifetime ago he had found a small overgrown courtyard but as it was bordered by the castle's high walls he hadn’t spared it a second thought at the time. Now he made a point of taking the child here every day if he was able and always in the daylight.

The child grumbled when a shaft of sun peeked from the clouds and got into his eyes but otherwise made no fuss. Jonathan closed his eyes and let the warmth seep into his skin and chase off the chill air. It comforted him to know that there were these subtle differences between them and the Count, that in these small ways they were stronger than him.

_And perhaps if I maintain the habit we won’t lose them._

Jonathan stayed in the small garden as the clouds ebbed and flowed about the sun until the light no longer reached into the courtyard and the sky settled to a slate grey. The hairs pricked on the back of his neck and he knew the Count was there, watching them. 

“Care to join us?” Jonathan called impetuously. Other than their meals the Count had been keeping his distance all this time and it was beginning to set Jonathan’s teeth on edge. 

_If he’s been planning on doing anything to either of us, better to get it over with._

Dracula was silent for a moment before Jonathan heard him approach, his steps sure and steady, until he stood beside them. Jonathan noted absently that he had stood in the shadow cast by the castle behind them.

“You’re up early,” said the Count, looking the Englishman over with a critical eye.

Jonathan patted the babe’s back where he held him against his shoulder. “We both were.”

Dracula looked at the dozing infant and lifted a hand to its head. He watched with something like fascination in his eyes as his fingers sifted through the gentle curls. The careful touch stirred the babe who blearily blinked up at the man who had disturbed his nap. Jonathan tried not to flinch when he felt the Count’s other hand squeeze his shoulder.

“Would you look at that,” he breathed. It sounded like he was pleased with himself and Jonathan tamped down the urge to shudder when the hand on his shoulder glided up to his neck. “He has his mother’s eyes.”

Jonathan closed his eyes and allowed himself to pretend. 

_His_ real _mother’s eyes, her eyes. Not mine. Not me._

The cold hand continued up the exposed column of Jonathan’s neck and cupped his face, coaxing the shorter man to look at him.

“My two blue-eyed Johnnies.” 

Jonathan felt his rebuttal stick in the back of his throat as he stared into the black eyes. They trapped Jonathan for a long while before pulling away. The Englishman swayed, untethered, and cleared his throat. The babe was chewing on his shirt collar and he absently removed the fabric from the child's grip, much to the boy's consternation.

“Ah, that reminds me,” declared the Count and reached into his jacket. Jonathan watched as he produced a silver baby rattle and impishly shook it in front of the babe. Like the bassinet it looked old but clean, and the tinkle of the bells within it sounded bright and clear as if it were brand new. The child was enchanted by the sight and sound and immediately made a grab for the toy.

_Don’t give it to him. How have you tainted this thing? You must have done something to it, you fiend. Don’t give it to him._

“It looks terribly expensive,” is what managed to force its way out of Jonathan’s throat.

An infuriatingly casual smile tugged at Dracula’s lips. “Can’t a father spoil his son?”

Jonathan shuddered. “Of course.”

Watching on with a detached sort of feeling like he wasn’t actually there Jonathan saw the Count coax the child to hold the delicate looking toy and shake it. The boy squealed in delight and shook the rattle harder, the tinkling bells accompanying his laughter. The Count was smiling and the babe looked up at him.

Jonathan felt ill. It seemed wrong somehow that this trusting innocent child should look upon that creature with such open joy in his countenance. That the boy was not repulsed by the Count nor showed any sign of fear whatsoever in his presence gave Jonathan great unease. It was like seeing an angel being ensnared by the devil himself.

"I thought you'd like it." The words jarred Jonathan back to himself and it took a moment for him to realise that the Count wasn't talking to him. "How about we all head back inside and have a drink by the fire, hm? Would you like that?" 

As if to respond the boy made a burbling noise and the Count chuckled. A strong arm wrapped about Jonathan's waist, pulling him close before directing him back towards the doors.

"Michael," said Jonathan, his voice firmer than he thought himself capable of. "His name is Michael." 

Dracula didn't falter and offered Jonathan an indulgent smile. "Is it now? Not what I would have chosen, but as far as names go it's not a bad one." He reached out to chuck the babe playfully under his chin. "Michael," he said as if testing how the name tasted on his tongue. "You know, I think he looks like a 'Michael'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Truly there is no such thing as finality.” For here I am continuing this story because it simply won't leave my mind alone. I hope you can all forgive my indulgence. Any and all comments, spelling corrections or advice on tags that I have missed are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Jonathan’s first clue that this evening would be different from the others was when Dracula insisted on accompanying Jonathan up the stairs after their meal. Michael would always find sleep quickly after he was sated and Jonathan would stay with the babe in his rooms until sleep claimed him also. Yet this time there was a large hand splayed at the small of his back as Jonathan made that long climb up to his rooms. The Count waited by the door as he settled the child, taking perhaps a little longer than necessary. 

“Come along Johnny,” Dracula called, careful to keep his voice low. “While the night is still young.”

Unable to distract himself further Jonathan gave the now sleeping babe a parting glance before softly shutting the door. The hand returned to his back, snaking about his waist.

“I’d like to spend more time with you Johnny,” the Count was saying as they retraced their steps. “It’s fascinating to see how much you’ve progressed. You and Michael both.”

Jonathan was guided into a room he had never entered before. Bookshelves straining under the weight of dusty tomes lined one of the walls. Heavy drapes alluded to the presence of tall windows and a fire crackled away in an ornate stone fireplace, moreso for light rather than heat. 

“Here.” The Count stood Jonathan by the glow of the fire and gripped the Englishman’s upper arms. “Let me get a look at you.” Jonathan froze as cold hands roved over his body in an almost clinical fashion, black eyes examining every detail. He picked a book on the shelf and focused his attention on attempting to translate the title, trying not to hear the Count’s murmured comments. Then Dracula stood before him unerringly drawing Jonathan’s gaze.

“You look like you did when we first met,” said Dracula, his words barely a whisper in the space between them. 

“I’m not that man,” Jonathan grit out. “Not anymore.”

“No,” agreed the Count. “You’re so much more.” Stepping back from the shorter man the Count took a seat in one of the wingback chairs by the fire and leaned back as if he was waiting for something, his eyes never leaving Jonathans. 

Without the Count in close proximity the layer of fear and submission that Jonathan exhaustively hid behind sloughed off of him like a heavy jacket and he shook as the rage pulsed through him like exposed nerves.

“I’m exhausted at being frightened all the time.” With how potent the urge to scream welled within him Jonathan was surprised to hear his words echoed back as no more than a harsh whisper.

“You have no reason to fear me Jonathan.”

Jonathan laughed at that. “I do not know your mind! You, who had been so quick to dismiss my mortal existence now wish for my company. How soon will it be before you tire of me? Of us? What date will you choose as a fitting end?”

“You think I would kill you?” In the flickering light of the fire it was hard for Jonathan to discern the look that briefly passed over the Counts face at his words. Perhaps he even imagined it. “You didn’t exist until this moment.”

“I existed.” Jonathan turned back to the books and sighed.

“Yet this is your reality. This is who you are now Johnny and you haven’t even unlocked the full extent of the gifts you’ve been given.”

“Gifts,” Jonathan scoffed. “As if I asked for any of this.”

“You’ve had plenty of opportunities to leave,” said Dracula offhandedly. 

Jonathan whipped back around to face the man at that. “Don’t pretend like I had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.” Dracula rose from his chair in a languid movement and made to stand by the fire, his arm resting on the mantelpiece. “You’re so full of needless fear Johnny, and not just fear of myself. I can see it in your eyes.” The Count's eyes met Jonathans and the man held the dark stare out of spite.

“Please, do enlighten me,” he said sardonically. The Count's lip twitched but his gaze never wavered.

“You’re afraid of your hunger. You feel it sometimes don’t you? The empty feeling deep within you that never seems to be fully satisfied. You know what you need and it frightens you.”

_When had he gotten so close?_

Jonathan swallowed hard. “I don’t want… that.”

“Of course you do. So will our son.”

“Stop.”

“You know, it’s not as good second hand.”

“Stop it.”

“The taste as those first drops hit your tongue, still warm and alive-”

“Enough!” 

Without thinking Jonathan pushed the Count square in the chest sending the taller man flying into the bookcase. The shelves rattled with the force of the impact, many books crashing to the floor. When the blood stopped rushing in Jonathan's ears he could hear Dracula laughing as he righted himself.

“That’s it Johnny! Use your strength, and let me help you to control it. To control your rage, your fear, your hunger.”

It took Jonathan a moment to realise that he was no longer shaking. He watched as the Count rolled up his shirtsleeves and spread his arms in an invitation. Jonathan had never been in a fight in his life so when he swung wildly at the man his blow was easily deflected. He threw another punch and another, some hit their mark while others were easily dodged but not once did the Count strike back.

He had no idea how long he kept hitting the man, throwing himself at the beast again and again like waves dashing ineffectually at a cliff face. He kicked and scratched and pushed until all at once his strength left him. Jonathan fisted his hands into the Counts shirt to keep himself upright. His knuckles weren’t even bruised. Laughter rumbled in Dracula's chest, large hands clasping over Jonathan's thin wrists.

“Wonderful. Such a spark you have in you my dear.” Jonathan glared. The Count’s focus was on his mouth however, and ever so slowly, as if he were approaching a wounded animal, Dracula reached a hand to Jonathan's face and parted his lips with his thumb. Jonathan knew what he was transfixed on, he could feel them heavy and sharp in his mouth. 

_I wonder how much he can bleed._

At the thought Jonathan wrenched himself backwards, hand grasping firmly at a chair as he stumbled. The Count hadn’t looked to be exerted from Jonathan's attack yet it now seemed that he was out of breath. His composure quickly returned and dismissed Jonathan with an absent wave of his hand. Jonathan ran.

When he reached his rooms he saw Michael sleeping peacefully, his small fist wrapped loosely around the silver rattle. Just watching the angelic face calmed Jonathan significantly as he parsed through his turbulent thoughts. It was only when Michael’s hazel blue eyes blinked sweetly up at him did Jonathan realise he hadn’t moved for hours. Nor had he slept.

The new addition to the routine of daily existence slotted harmlessly into place and more and more of Jonathan's evenings were spent in the Count’s company. Most of their time was spent in relative silence and if they spoke it was only ever about Michael. They never fought again. Once the Count had tried to engage Jonathan in a game of chess but the Englishman had refused. He had never been terribly good at the game anyways.

When the first body showed up, a crumpled shape of limbs and rags on the stone floor, struggling for breath, Jonathan was hard pressed to be surprised. For a while it had felt as if the Count had been waiting for something and the atmosphere had gradually gotten more oppressive, like gathering storm clouds waiting to burst. He would like to say that he resisted longer than he did, that he didn’t willingly follow when beckoned, that he had no choice in the matter.

_There’s always a choice and I’ve chosen wrongly._

He couldn’t bare to look at Michael when he returned to his rooms after that ordeal, the now dried flakes of red still clinging to his skin. Now every evening as he made to enter that room he’d wonder if he’d open the door to find just one person on the other side or two. Some evenings he didn’t know which he hoped for, and those were the moments that he feared for himself the most.

One evening the child was remarkably energetic and the Count insisted that the boy join them until he tired himself out. It was a strange image, seeing the laughing child crawling towards the Count who, kneeling on the plush carpet and reaching out for the boy, sleeves carelessly rolled up and a light in his dark eyes, could almost pass for something human. 

Michael screeched in delight as Dracula lifted him into the air. Jonathan started forwards reflexively. The Count caught the aborted movement and gave Jonathan a wry smile.

“Won’t be long until he’s walking I’ll wager,” he said, bouncing the boy on his hip. The angle looked awkward where he still kneeled but his hold on the child was sure.

“He’ll need clothes.”

“He won’t harm anyone’s sensibilities by going without.”

“It has nothing to do with that and you know it.”

“Oh, that’s right. It’s ‘just not done’ isn’t it?”

“I’m not having this argument with you again,” muttered Jonathan.

“And still you won't just ask me.” The two men stared at each other over the babes head. Something in the air shifted uncomfortably. Jonathan knew what he meant but remained silent. “Is it pride Johnny? A last ditch attempt of defiance?”

Dracula stood in a fluid movement, mindful of his charge. The domestic atmosphere had evaporated, being replaced by something tense and thrumming. Jonathan mirrored the action, his mind whirled at how he could take back Michael into his own arms. When the Count continued his voice was lower and Jonathan couldn’t mistake the dangerous tone that underlied his words.

“You think that if I blindly give you what you want, what you need, that you can remain absolved. That you can imagine that you’re still a prisoner here against your will. I see you Jonathan Harker. I see what you are and you no longer have the luxury of pretence.” Jonathan stood resolute as the dark eyes seemed to bore into his very being. “You will ask me and when I give it will be in the knowledge that you wanted it.” The words came slow and deliberate, settling like a lead weight in Jonathan's gut.

Sensing the tonal shift in his guardians Michael mewled in discomfort and Jonathan could see the start of tears glistening in the child's eyes. The Count made no move to placate the boy. He just looked at Jonathan, waiting.

The man held out his arms for the boy. “Please.”

Dracula didn’t move. The air felt thick and Michael began to sob in earnest. Jonathan took a step forward.

“Give him to me, please!” 

For all his harsh words, when the Count released the crying child into Jonathan’s arms his movements were gentle. Michael bawled into Jonathan's shoulder as he attempted to calm the babe down but a fury of his own had welled within him.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” Jonathan hissed. Dracula’s face remained inscrutable. Jonathan continued, louder. “I make no pretence at what I am. I am a monster, I am poisoned. We have been tainted by you. You’re the one that is living a lie. We are not your family, I am not your bride and Michael is not your son! And this is not a gift. It's a curse.”

Jonathan turned on his heel and left as quickly as he could without actively running from the room. He needn't have worried about being pursued for as soon as the door slammed shut behind him the Count took a great breath and slumped himself into his chair, deep in thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately I'm quite sure that there's another chapter in me somewhere. The trouble lies in what I am going to do with it when, or rather if I can find it. Thank you all for going along with the ride so far - again, spelling corrections and tag suggestions are more than welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

Jonathan didn’t bring up their argument and it seemed that the Count wasn’t going to mention it either. The closest the Englishman got to an apology was when he found a neatly folded pile of infant clothes on his bed. When he and Michael, now properly dressed, joined Dracula for their meal neither man said a word. Jonathan made an effort to thank the Count sincerely before leaving to set Michael down to sleep and took the look that passed across the taller man’s face as a small victory. 

Time wasn’t as simple to hold onto as it once was for Jonathan, so it could have been a few days or an entire week after their altercation when he heard an odd noise outside the castle. He stilled, straining his ears for the sound. There it was again, like something was being dragged along the hard stone courtyard. Jonathan was aware that Dracula had to get their victims into the castle somehow but until now Jonathan had been blissfully unaware of the whole process, assuming that the Count was simply being conscientious.

 _Probably didn’t want to upset my_ delicate sensibilities _the bastard._

Jonathan listened, hearing the great doors open, then a soft thud as a body fell to the ground. He winced at the mental image. Michael, happily chewing on his rattle, cooed up at him from his sprawled position on the floor. Returning his attention to the boy Jonathan allowed himself to keep half an ear to whatever the Count was doing with their unfortunate guest. 

Nothing.

Jonathan gave it a while longer. Still not another sound.

A flare of annoyance sparked under his skin.

Michael laughed at being swung up into Jonathan's arms, which helped the man subdue his ire. He was sure that there would be a completely rational reason why the Count had seen fit to drop a body in the foyer like a sack of potatoes and leave it there. 

_And I’m damn well going to get one._

He faltered on the steps when he saw the dark shape of the Count crumpled on the ground just inside of the door. He wasn’t moving. For a long moment Jonathan stared, his eyes going from the prone figure of the Count to the open door. Oddly enough, the clear temptation of freedom didn’t have the same appeal as it once did. It left Jonathan with a bitter taste in his mouth, and he quickly closed the door.

A groan came from the mass of black fabric, causing Jonathan to start violently, Michael grumbling in Jonathan’s arms. Taking Michael into the study gave Jonathan a moment to compose himself before returning to the Count.

The man was heavier than he looked but Jonathan managed to turn him onto his back. His hands came away smeared with red. The movement seemed to rouse the Count and he groggily blinked up at Jonathan. 

“Ah, Johnny.” Dracula made an attempt to reach out for the man but grimaced at the action. “Be a dear and help me up, would you?”

“What the hell happened to you?” Ignoring the stifled groan, Jonathan hauled the man to his feet. An arm draped heavily across his shoulders and he steadied himself as he took the weight. 

“Let’s just say it wasn’t one of my finer moments.”

“Now who’s hiding behind their pride.”

Dracula’s smile pulled tight at the edges. They made their way steadily into the study where Jonathan deposited the taller man none too gently into a chair. At this vantage Jonathan could get a better look at the man. His clothes were utterly ruined, torn and tattered, caked in mud and blood, though Jonathan did not know if it was his. At least, not all of it.

“Right. Would I be showing my ignorance if I were to ask if you store any bandages?”

The Count’s smirk almost looked fond. “I’m touched at your bedside manner, but there’s no cause for worry. I just need to rest for a moment.”

Jonathan quirked an eyebrow, looking pointedly at the Count’s slumped figure. The tinkling sound of silver bells cut through the silence and both men looked down to see that Michael had crawled his way over to their feet and was currently craning his neck to better see his guardians. Dracula made to pick up the child but Jonathan was faster. A dark look flashed in even darker eyes. Jonathan met them head on.

“You’re filthy,” he said in a way of explanation. “I’m not having you ruin his new things.”

Something melted away in the Count’s gaze and was replaced by something warmer as he saw Michael reaching out for him from Jonathan’s gentle hold. The shorter man noted the shift in Dracula’s attention and mentally wrestled with himself for a moment before stepping closer with the babe.

“He only likes you because you provide food you know.” Jonathan had tried to aim for a teasing tone, but his voice came a little hoarse as his mind finally caught up with him mid-sentence.

_Why should I think to be considerate?_

“Is that so?” The Count did not appear to have been listening, his attentions fully on Michael as he burbled and made grabbing motions in his direction. Slowly, as if he were afraid to startle the babe, he lifted his hand and clasped the smaller one in his own. Michael laughed and continued chattering his nonsense at the Count while Jonathan looked on with wide eyes.

Perhaps it was the harsh juxtaposition from the Count’s usual collected image which he effortlessly maintained that made him appear softer around the edges. Or perhaps it was the rancid smell of the dead and drying blood staining his shirt that was skewing Jonathan’s senses. Whatever it was, it made his stomach lurch as if he had stepped forwards, sure that there was another step in his path, yet encountered no resistance for those scant inches, before finding himself once again on solid ground. 

The spell broke when he pulled Michael back from the Count, settling the child once again on the plush rug by the hearth. “Take those off,” he instructed, not looking in Dracula’s direction. “I’ll fetch you some water. Keep an eye on him.” He didn’t wait to hear if Dracula had offered a response, striding briskly through the castle.

_You’re just hungry, let it be._

Upon his return with the water and some clean rags he found the Count kneeling on the rug, hands braced at Michael’s sides as he helped the infant sit upright. He was shirtless, his garments in a ragged heap by the chair, and Jonathan could see the would on the man’s shoulder still bleeding sluggishly. He was sure that it must have been deeper given the quantity of blood but he didn’t dwell on it. Setting the water by the fire to warm it and, abandoning the idea to force the taller man back into his chair, settled himself carefully on the floor beside the pair.

“What did I say about dirtying his clothes?” Jonathan chided with no real heat to his words. He took a cloth and saturated it with the lukewarm water.

“I’ll get him new ones,” Dracula said.

Jonathan looked up and sought out the dark eyes. “Would you?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation and the voice was sure. Jonathan held his gaze and after a moment he nodded.

“Good. Now, stay still.” He focused on the blood, finding it rather difficult not to, and scrubbed at the red staining Dracula's chest. He could feel the Count’s eyes watching his movements, trailing up his arm when he stretched to rinse out the rags, scrutinising the furrows of his brow when Jonathan encountered a stubborn patch of blood and grime, dancing over his mouth when Jonathan would remind him to sit still. Jonathan was not delicate with him nor was he cruel in this labour, but worked steadily until the cloths and water were tinged a washed out maroon. 

Taking a dry cloth, Jonathan folded it and urged the Count to press it against the still open wound. “Will you tell me what happened?” Jonathan settled Michael more comfortably in his arms. During his ministrations the child had begun to droop and was now content to lazily grasp at Jonathan’s shirt.

Dracula sighed. “It was a… careless mistake. You could say that I’d bitten off more than I could chew.”

Jonathan refrained from rolling his eyes but it was a near thing. “I would have thought you would be more practiced with such things.”

“I am no longer hunting solely for myself now Johnny,” he said, eyes flickering towards Michael. “More mouths to feed.”

Jonathan frowned as a memory resurfaced. “What about your brides? You can’t be telling me that you’ve also been providing for them all this time?”

For a moment Dracula looked genuinely perplexed before realisation dawned. “Ah, no. No, Johnny. I took it upon myself to do a little… house cleaning when it was apparent that you and Michael were staying. They’re not the kind of things you would want with a child in the home.”

“Right.” He hadn’t even returned to the room they were kept in after he had spirited away Michael from that awful place; didn’t even try to help those women. He wasn’t entirely sure if he had even wanted to.

“Besides,” continued the Count, effectively derailing Jonathan’s train of thought, “I wouldn’t want you to be jealous.”

Jonathan’s patience peaked and he rolled his eyes heavily. “Jealous indeed,” he muttered. “You still haven’t given me an answer.”

“No I’ve not, haven’t I.” 

“Do you enjoy tormenting me?”

“Perhaps.”

Jonathan didn’t have an answer for that, and he looked away. The sounds of the fire seemed to fill the room in the lull of their conversation and his fingers once more found their way into Michael’s hair. The child’s rest didn’t look calming, the boy shifting as he lightly slept. Jonathan chanced another glance at the Count and found him studying Micheal, his gaze pensive.

“He can manage until tomorrow,” Jonathan said.

“And you?”

“Of course, though it seems as if I should be asking you that question.”

Dracula smirked. "I have more practice with such things." 

Jonathan didn't rise to it. Instead he tried to sooth Michael, the boy becoming more agitated while he rested. 

_I'm sorry. It pains me that I can't give you what you need._

"This can't happen again," murmured Jonathan, eyes never leaving Michael's face. The Count hummed. Jonathan could feel his eyes on the two of them, waiting. 

_Must I say the words?_

Resolve hardening in the face of Michael’s obvious discomfort, Jonathan took a steadying breath. “Show me. For him, please.”

When Jonathan looked up there was a myriad of emotions held in the Count’s deceptively easy smile. He could pick out the pride and eagerness easily enough, yet there was something else behind it all. A softness that he couldn’t place, nor did he exactly wish to.

“No.”

Jonathan blinked. “I-I’m sorry?”

Dracula laughed, a small humourless thing. “Perhaps I am growing soft in my old age. Or rather I am being selfish and wish to be the only one to provide for my family. Be honest with me Jonathan, aside from the fact that I feed you both what's really keeping you here? If you learn that you can easily look after yourself you would have no need of me and…” he trailed off. He looked lost.

“You’re right. You are being selfish.” Jonathan straightened, keeping his steely voice level for Michael’s benefit. “You’re not infallible, just look at yourself. Of course I would rather not actively partake in murder but, as you’re so keen on reminding me, this is my reality now. Our reality, and I would do that for him in a heartbeat. So I am not asking.”

The silence between them was heavy and seemed to last longer than it did. Eventually Dracula nodded, slowly. “If you wish it.”

“I do.” With a sigh Jonathan levered himself to his feet, expertly keeping Michael from being jostled. “We’ll discuss this further when we have rested.” Before leaving the room Jonathan turned back to where the Count remained kneeling by the fire. The words stuck in his throat.

_As if I could leave now._

He shut the door softly behind them and left, preparing himself for a restless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that will just about do it... for now. I've been getting some wonderful ideas from my lovely beta who was kind enough to edit my ramblings so I'm sure I'll be expanding on this. Thank you for all your kind comments, they make my day!


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